


Where it All Started: A Prequel to "Love by Any Other Name"

by charis2770



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Meeting, M/M, Masturbation, Prequel, Spanking, Teasing, by popular request we turned it into a story!, how Asami Aki and Haru met
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 15:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2698514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THIS STORY IS THE PREQUEL TO THE LOVE BY ANY OTHER NAME SERIES!! It contains an original character named Ito Haruki, so please be aware of that. We've been asked so many times how this story started that we decided to write it for you guys. Here is the story of how Asami and Akihito met Haru, a grad student in Architecture at Tokyo University. He witnesses a dirty little interchange between Asami and Akihito and can't look away, but he's seen. Then to his chagrin, he has to deliver some papers to Asami's office and face the men he was spying on. Asami, of course, can't resist the opportunity to needle the young man about it. Then things get interesting!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where it All Started: A Prequel to "Love by Any Other Name"

“Need I remind you, Asami-sama, that you have the award presentation at Tokyo University this afternoon at two?”

“Presentation?” asks Asami absently, holding a squirming Akihito against the wall with one hand while he holds a third tie up against the disgruntled little photographer’s shirt, comparing it to the others with a critical eye while Aki slaps ineffectually at his hands and complains that he doesn’t want to wear a tie. They’re meeting some of Asami’s lifestyle friends for drinks later and, though he’d told Aki to dress nicely when he’d left for work this morning, the boy had shown up at his office half an hour ago with a rip in the shoulder of his jacket and a stain on his shirt due to an unavoidable (according to Akihito) run-in with the doorman of a rather exclusive condo where Aki’s latest target resides. Asami is therefore dressing him for their evening, even though it’s only two in the afternoon, because it’s fun and he wants to save time to punish the little brat for getting his nice clothes dirty and forgetting his tie.

“Yes, Sir,” says Kirishima patiently, handing Asami a fourth tie and indicating with a nod that it’s the best one with the moss-green button down Asami has forced Aki into. “The scholarship we’re endowing? For the best proposal for the office in Marunouchi? For students of Architecture and Design?”

“Oh yes. One of your little pet projects for discovering up-and-coming talent. We’ve gotten some of our most promising young employees from some of these sorts of endowments you dream up, as I recall. Isn’t that amazing little accountant we’ve got at Ishigawa out of one of those contests?”

“Saito Akemi,” says Kirishima. “Yes, that’s where we discovered her. This one was for budding graduate students in Architecture. The winner’s someone to keep an eye on, but he needs seasoning yet. You’re to present the award and the cheque for the scholarship at the Arts building this afternoon.”

“Thank you Kirishima. I had forgotten. I don’t know what I’d do without you to run my life for me,” says Asami with a smirk. It’s not like him to let appointments slip his mind, but the endowments are Kirishima’s babies and he doesn’t really have anything at all to do with them. Not that he doesn’t support the idea, because they’ve definitely found a lot of new talent for various arms of his many companies through these little contests, but he’s allowed Kirishima free rein with them so that all he ever has to do is show up, pose for a few pictures, and hand over a cheque. He instructs his terrifyingly competent assistant to leave him the awards and then dismisses the man. He’s pretty sure it would put a painful strain on Kirishima’s aplomb and Akihito’s self-esteem for him to strip the rest of Aki’s clothes off in front of the man.

“I don’t need different clothes, Asami,” growls the photographer mutinously as the door shuts behind Kirishima. “I can just wash out the stain under the bathroom sink and sew up the hole in the limo on the way, give me a fucking break!”

“You will not,” says Asami calmly, thumbing open the button on Aki’s pants and giving them a swift yank, causing them to puddle around his ankles as he yowls discontentedly. “And these trousers don’t match your new shirt and tie _or_ this jacket. “Don’t test me, Akihito. You’ll lose, and your spanking is already going to be bad enough. I told you this evening was important to me. If you keep arguing, you’ll have a second punishment in front of Richard and Ingrid at the bar. They’d enjoy it immensely, but I’m not sure I can say the same about you.”

This renders Akihito cooperative enough that they’ll have time to make it to the University to hand over the award as scheduled. He’s just going to have to get a bit creative in finding a place and time to dole out Aki’s comeuppance for being careless with his clothing. There are bound to be empty classrooms in the arts building somewhere...

***  
"Did you find it yet, Ito-kun?" Professor Morioka asks, absentmindedly running his fingers through his hair and making the fluffy white strands stand on end.

Ito Haruki searches frantically through the drawers a large, heavy desk that his sensei hardly ever uses, preferring instead to putter around his current pet projects displayed on the long table next to the wall of windows that looks out onto the commons, or to be hunched over working at his sleek, glass drafting table.

"It's not here!" Haru says distractedly. He stands, frowns, then lifts up the large desktop calendar that covers a good portion of the mahogany top. It won't have been the first time he's discovered some important paper there, all forgotten. "Did you check your portfolio case?"

"Ahhhh..." Professor Morioka retrieves his bag from a small closet and shuffles through the documents inside. "It's here!"

Haru sighs and relaxes, hiding an exasperated grimace. His professor has an amazing mind and talent, but the man gets so caught up in his ideas sometimes that his personal organizational skills suffer. "We need to hurry, Professor. The presentation is in half an hour in the auditorium. Kato-san will be nervous if you don't show up soon."

"Yes, yes. Just let me get my glasses." Professor Morioka, tucks the papers under his arm and looks around with pursed lips.

"They're hanging from your sweater, Professor," Haru says fondly. When his professor chuckles at himself and puts them on, Haru motions to the wild tufts of his hair. They're quickly smoothed down, and Haru shepherds Professor Morioka out the door.

"What would I do without you, Ito-kun?"

Haru smiles at his favorite professor and shakes his head. "Choose another graduate assistant to help you. Anyone would jump at the chance."

"Ah, but I chose _you_. I hate the thought of having to let you go after two years. I suppose next year, it will be you receiving this award. Frankly, if first year graduate students were eligible, it would be you receiving it this year." Haru blushes, enormously flattered by his professor's words, and Morioka chuckles. "Well, well, don't tell Kato I said so. I suppose it's not very diplomatic of me, and Kato's design is quite acceptable. He is deserving of the recognition."

"His design is beautiful," Haru agrees. He can't help daydreaming a little about what would happen if he _did_ win the competition next year. He's been living and breathing his classes this semester, putting his heart and soul into everything. After his humiliating break up with Issa, he'd thrown himself into his school work even more than usual. At least it had paid off with the warm praise his professor had bestowed on him.

"Professor! Ito-kun!" Kato rushes over to them when they reach the auditorium. "I thought you'd forgotten!"

"Silly boy, as if I'd forget a thing like this. Now where is the presentation going to be? Oh, yes, over there..." Morioka wanders over to the podium where Kato's design is displayed to full advantage.

Haru gives Kato a sympathetic grin. "Don't worry. He's got everything under control."

Kato releases a deep breath and smiles sheepishly. "I know. It's just, I'm really nervous. It's a really big deal to be noticed by Sion Corporation. They have offices all over the world. I know someone who got a job in their Seoul offices, and they said the benefits are incredible and that the work is really challenging, but it's all interesting stuff. He said they really recognize people if they produce quality work. They really support innovative designs and supposedly have a lot less red tape that most companies. They're _really_ elite, though. It's not easy to land a job with them."

"Sion..." Haru muses. He's heard the name of course. It's a huge company with its fingers in a lot of pies. He's not sure exactly what kind of company he wants to work for after he finishes his program, but it would be amazing to work for a place that had so many resources. On the other hand, a smaller company might be more in line with his own personal goals and philosophy, and he's not sure he'd fit in with such an elite environment. Someone like him probably couldn't even get an interview, even if his professor said he'd have his pick of the architectural houses in a couple of years.

A sudden bustle by the door of the auditorium makes him look up. His gaze is immediately arrested, and a soft gasp escapes him. The most gorgeous man he's ever seen is standing in the doorway. He's tall and well-built and fills out his expensive-looking suit to perfection. His dark hair is almost perfectly groomed, barring a lock that falls slightly askew just above the man's eyes. A slightly shorter man in glasses stands next to him, showing him something on a sleek, silver tablet.

"Who's that?" Haru breathes.

"That's Asami Ryuichi," Kato whispers as he nervously wipes his palms on his slacks." He's the owner and CEO of Sion.He's presenting the award and scholarship. Oh my God, he looks kind of scary. Ito, I can't do this!"

"Yes, you can. He's not scary. He's just a person." Kato shoots him a look. "Okay, an _important_ person." _Who happens to be unbelievably beautiful_ , Haru doesn't say aloud.

Haru can't drag his eyes away. He's never truly understood the term 'magnetic attraction' until now. Every move the man makes is mesmerizing, pure elegance, from the way he casually slips a hand into his pocket, to the arch of his well-shaped brow. The corner of his perfect mouth tilts up when a slender young man slips around to the side of him and glowers up at him.

Haru's eyes widen. They treat each other with a subtle familiarity that Haru takes in silently. The younger man is very attractive too. His bright messy hair and large, expressive eyes in a pretty face are like a beacon. Does he work for Sion, too? What are they to each other, Haru wonders.The younger man wanders a few feet away, still frowning, and at that moment, the man--Asami Ryuichi--turns and meets his own gaze.

Haru freezes, his heart slamming into his ribcage for no good reason except the powerful attraction that he's so unexpectedly experiencing. Asami's gaze is riveting and absolutely penetrating. Haru feels like the man can see exactly what he's feeling and a hot flush spreads over Haru's face and body.

"He's looking over here," Kato hisses, squeezing Haru's arm painfully. "Let's go find, Professor Morioka."

Haru lets himself be dragged off, breaking the connection with the man, but leaving him with a shaky, breathless feeling he can't quite shake.

 

The presentation is pretty much the same as every other one of these things he’s been part of. A scattering of academic types standing around in an auditorium meant for a lot more people than the very specialized sort of gathering brought together for this purpose. Kirishima has them offering endowments for a variety of specializations. Today’s purpose, architecture, but also accounting, law, mathematics, business management, and various technologies. The award ceremonies don’t vary much. A nervous and excited recipient along with proud parents if they don’t live too far away, a handful of friends and supporters, some other students from the same department, and appropriate faculty and administration from the school in question. A couple of speeches are made, including one that’s way too long and filled with a lot of stammering and throat-clearing from the lucky winner. He glances at the young man’s design. It’s technically perfect. There’s not a functional detail he’s missed. It’s just a little lacking in imagination, and imagination is the magic something Sion is looking for in the students it will recruit. Akihito grows rapidly bored beside him. He’s taken some pictures of the gathering before the ceremony began, and he’ll take a few more when it’s over, of Asami and the winner shaking hands and such, along with a few images at the beginning of the small reception they can’t skip without being rude, although he doesn’t plan to stay long. But the subject matter interests Aki even less than it does Asami, and he’s not an old hand at affecting an expression of polite interest. He fidgets. A lot. Asami’s mouth curls up on one side and he leans sideways so he can mutter softly into Aki’s ear.

“I found an unused classroom on our way in, pet,” he whispers, at which Akihito freezes in the act of leaning down to scratch his ankle. “It’s got a bunch of unused bits of theater set in it, covered with tarps, so we can be sure there won’t be a class of wide-eyed students arriving suddenly to ruin my fun. You’ve got one hell of a spanking coming for showing up at my office looking the way you did when we had plans later, and you’re getting it before we leave this campus. I’d sit still and pay attention if you don’t want it to be worse than it already is.” He sits back up and smiles, well satisfied, when Akihito gasps softly and sits up straight, muttering back at Asami out of the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks a lot. Now I have to sit and listen to this boring speech with a fucking hard-on too. Asshole.”

“Ohh, I’m going to show you how much of an asshole I can be,” Asami assures him. When he sits back up, he catches the young man he’d noticed earlier staring at him again. He’s a pretty one. Much more so than Asami’s used to seeing at these boring events, with soft bangs falling over startlingly blue eyes and a lithe little body. He’d recognized the instant attraction on the boy’s face. He’s such an innocent that he doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s not hiding a single thing he’s feeling. It’s the kind of expression that would have made Asami seek him out at one point in time, after the presentation, because he’d be a delight to corrupt. Asami allows himself a moment’s indulgence to imagine those beautiful blue eyes filled with tears and that lovely little body covered with marks from his whip while delicious cries are wrung from those pouting lips as he….Ah, but no. Asami’s days of dallying with tasty little morsels ended the day a nosy brat of a photographer crashed into his life. He smiles at Akihito and glances at his watch. The last speech seems to be wrapping up at last. He hopes ten minutes is enough time to spend at the reception without being terribly rude, because Akihito isn’t the only one with an erection now, and he’s damned if he’s going to wait until after their meeting with Richard and Ingrid to indulge himself in punishing Akihito. Not that it’s really punishment, something he avoids as often as he can, because Aki doesn’t really need it and would be hurt by besides. Not that it really fits with their relationship’s dynamic anyway. He tries not to stop and marvel that he uses the word relationship so casually. He wouldn’t mind having someone in his life who was as wholly devoted to serving him as Akihito will never be, but he finds to his surprise that he’s happy this way.

***

Haru has tried to listen dutifully to all the speeches, but his attention keeps getting pulled to Asami Ryuichi and the young man next to him. Haru still doesn't know his name, but he'd seen him taking pictures before the ceremony began. Haru is sure he's more than just a photographer to Asami.

His fascinated gaze notes every look, every touch they share, and a certainty begins to build inside him that the relationship between the two men has a great deal more intimacy than what they're currently showing. It's in the slightest softening of Asami's expression when he looks at the younger man and in the indulgent curve of his mouth. It's in the boy's flashing eyes, and his blush when Asami speaks into his ear. His speculation sparks a nervous flutter in his belly. He's not even sure exactly why, but it grows within him, until he finds it difficult to sit still or to tear his eyes away, even momentarily, from the pair.

Kato finally finishes his speech, and the Dean of the college wraps up fairly quickly. Haru waits his turn to congratulate Kato again, and then blends into the small crowd. He spots Asami's tall form across the room, he drifts closer, drawn into the man's orbit, but before he can take more than a few steps, Professor Morioka pulls him into a discussion with the man with the glasses who had come in with Asami.

Kirishima-san seems to know a lot about architecture, and Haru is flattered by the man's courtesy in listening to him speak about his own interests, but in the back of his mind, he can't stop thinking about Kirishima's employer and his mysterious companion. He bows as Kirishima takes his leave, and only then notices a bright head in the crowd headed toward the door. The boy stops and waits at the double doors, and Asami joins him, easing his way through the people eager to speak with him with a nod or a few words. They disappear together as Haru watches.

He feels unaccountably deflated, and his shoulders slump just a little. That's it then. They're gone, and he'll probably never see them again.

"Ito-kun," his professor interrupts his thoughts, "would you mind taking Kato's project to my office? Tanaka keeps blundering around it like a bull in a china shop. It wouldn't do for it to be destroyed before it gets its moment of glory in the atrium display case. I'll see you tomorrow bright and early."

"Of course, professor." Haru wheels the display out, walking slowly as he tries to remember every single detail he can about the man who had so much presence. He exuded raw power. It made Haru shiver a little to think of it. And his eyes, Haru can't forget those. Such an unusual color, and so intense. What would it be like to be looked at by him with that soft expression? Or with the one that made his insides curl with a funny little tingle--the one that made that pretty young man blush so deeply.

That's the kind of person Asami Ryuichi likes, he thinks. Of course, such a person would be beautiful too. They would be confident and accomplished, for surely the young man had to be highly skilled if he was doing work for Asami Ryuichi. They looked good together, for all their differences as well as their similarities.

Haru sighs deeply, his heart tugging with a yearning sort of envy as he locks the display up in the professor's office. Maybe one day he'll see the man again. Maybe next year if he enters the competition and does well. Maybe one day he'd actually work for the man.

"Yeah," Haru whispers. "Like it's really work that you want to do for him." He grins and shakes his head, shrugging off his wistful mood. It's not as if someone like Asami Ryuichi would even give him the time of day for any reason, even if he didn't have that beautiful boy at his side.

Haru makes his way through the hallways, heading for an exit that will put him on the path to the nearest train station he uses. The back wing is fairly deserted at this time of day, since the evening classes haven't started yet, and most of the rooms here are used for storage. That's why he's surprised when he hears faint sounds coming from behind one of the heavy doors that he knows contains a lot of old theater props.

Haru slows down and cocks his head. It sounds like sharp cracks, but the sound is so muted he can't be sure. He moves closer, peering into the glass panel of the door and not seeing anything at first until he cranes his neck. Then, he gasps, planting his palm firmly against his mouth to contain the startled noise.

It's Asami Ryuichi. He's standing behind and to the side of the young man who is bent over the edge of a small stage with his palms planted on the wooden floor. The boy's pants are pooled at his knees and his bare bottom is thrust high up into the air. It's already glowing a deep red, and Haru sees why when Asami's hand connects to those round cheeks soundly. Haru is close enough to hear the boy's wail this time.

A tightness creeps into Haru's chest, and his breath starts coming fast and sharp. With a suddenness that makes him light-headed, blood rushes into his face and then drains again, leaving him with a cool, shivery sensation. The tips of his fingers dig into his face with unconscious force. _This can't be happening. It can't be._ It's like the incarnation of all his unexpressed desires...and...and it's _real_.

He almost staggers under the vicious wave of longing that rips through him. There's another door, a smaller one, at the far end of the room, and Haru can't stop himself--doesn't want to. He creeps to it as quietly as he can and with painful slowness pushes it open and slips inside. Half hidden behind a scenery curtain, he watches them, hypnotized by the smack of flesh on flesh and the boy's guttural moans and cries. Oh, he _is_ crying now, with fervent and hitching little sobs. Haru gazes, enraptured by the vulnerable skin so red and hot and lovely. He watches the power and grace of Asami's movements, and listens to the excitingly filthy words he murmurs.  
Haru can't breathe or think or move. Only his arousal grows stronger and stronger, oddly paired with an overwhelming pure fascination that's somehow more innocent than prurient, drinking in everything and still marveling that it is _really, truly_ happening. _This_ is what he's dreamed about at night, every night, for so very long.

The boy sobs and whimpers as the blows fall, until he's begging the man in trembling, heart-wrenching, and oh so erotic tones for the man to please stop. _Please, please..._ Haru's own heart cries out in sympathy and need. What its asking for isn't clear, but Asami answers the boy with a carnal growl and begins to describe in detail the things he's going to do the naughty boy's hungry little hole.

Haru forgets himself, his sharp inhale carrying across the cluttered room. Ice floods his veins as Asami's head jerks around and pins Haru to the spot.

_Oh. Oh no..._

Haru's eyes flood, while the man's narrow. Mortification suffuses every fiber of his being, and Haru makes some strangled sound and stumbles backward, almost falling over a dusty prop. He hears the boy call Asami's name and then footsteps clicking toward him. He does the only thing he can think of.

He runs.

***

“I’m gonna die,” whines Akihito into his hands. Asami chuckles and tugs him onto his lap, gently pulling on his hands. When Aki refuses to let go of his face, Asami pulls harder and forces the blushing boy to look at him.

“He was more upset than you are right now, I promise you,” he assures his flustered pet.

“ONLY CAUSE YOU SAW HIM,” yells Akihito in an anguished voice.

“Akihito,” says Asami soothingly, “you have nothing to worry about. If that boy tells a soul what he saw, I’ll eat this tie.”

Aki opens one eye and looks at the tie. Coming from Asami, this is a much more important claim than it would be for most people.

“It looks expensive,” he says reluctantly.

“It was. Very.”

“Why do you think he won’t tell anyone?”

“I saw his face. That wasn’t the look of someone getting an eyeful of something naughty and interesting to gossip over.”

“What then?” Aki looks willing to be mollified, as long as he doesn’t feel Asami’s making fun of him.

“Aki...I don’t think he meant to spy. I don’t think he could help it. That boy wanted what we were doing in that classroom so badly there were tears in his eyes. He won’t tell a soul. He’ll keep it his own special secret to take out and relive when he’s alone. And he’ll wish and wish it had been him in your place, until he’s almost sick with it…”

“Asami,” says Aki, dropping his hands to Asami’s shoulders and cocking his head to the side, humiliation forgotten, “you sound like you feel sorry for him.”

“I saw his face,” says Asami softly.

***

Haru is trembling the entire ride back to his stop. Somehow, he makes it back to his small apartment on autopilot, the entire scene he witnessed playing out again over and over like a broken movie reel. He falls onto his rolled out futon, and then his hand is his pants, but instead of a fast and furious release, he strokes himself slowly, relishing every detail of sight and sound that he can recall. And his recall is pretty damned good since he can close his eyes and envision the exact shape of the hand print that wrapped around the boy's left buttock, and the way Asami's hair fell over his eyes as his arm swung through the air with cracking force, and the way the boy's enticing round flesh had quivered and darkened when it landed.

A hitched sob escapes Haru as his hand finally moves faster. _Dirty little boy. Look how hard you are from this. Dripping. Such a naughty boy. I'll make you spread your hot little cheeks and expose that greedy hole for me._ Haru groans, hips bucking up off the futon. _But not until your cute little ass is thoroughly punished. Not until you beg for my cock to split you in two._

A helpless series of moans slip from Haru's lips and he comes hard and then rolls into a tight ball, hugging his knees to his chest. When the high of his release dies down, a numb sort of sadness creeps over him. And then apprehension insinuates itself in Haru's emotion.

Oh, God, he'd been such a creep, spying on them like that. What if Asami says something and he gets kicked out of school? What if his professor finds out? He'll be so disappointed.

It takes Haru a long time to get to sleep that night, but the next morning nothing has changed. His professor greets him cheerfully. Classes proceed as normal. Everything is the same, except for the fact that Haru can't get the pair of those compelling men out of his mind.

He forces himself to focus on his work, and finally, by the end of the day, it begins to work. He lets himself relax, realizing that if Asami Ryuichi intended to tell anyone about what he done, then he probably already would have heard something.

So the next morning, when Professor Morioka asks him to deliver some paperwork related to the scholarship to Sion personally, it feels like a sucker punch. He tries to bow out, but his professor tells him that Kirishima-san had been impressed by his conversation and that Asami Ryuichi wanted to meet him personally, so he was the best person for the job. It was a wonderful opportunity.

Haru knew the truth, though. He was going to have to face the consequences of what he did. Asami Ryuichi probably had the power to crush his career before it even got started. Haru only hoped that if he apologized for watching, then maybe, just maybe, he'd be forgiven.

Still, it takes all of his courage to make the trip to the intimidating building that houses Sion HQ. The luxury in the lobby alone makes him feel out of his league, but he gets his clearance and travels up. Kirishima is waiting for him, and Haru bows and hands over the documents, hoping he can get away quickly without intruding on the notice of Asami Ryuichi. while at the same time, desperately hoping for even a glimpse of the man.

“Why are we in the surveillance room again?” asks Akihito, both mildly curious and mildly annoyed. He doesn’t think he’s spent as much time at Asami’s office as he has in the past two days since the day Asami brought him to work with him. That had been...well, fun might not be exactly the right word. Intense. Erotic. Amazing. _This_ is just getting annoying!

Asami peers at the monitors, looking for something. His golden eyes are keen and as amused as always. He looks oddly expectant.

“Someone from the University is bringing by some papers that need my signature.”

“So?”

“Kirishima remained behind after we took our leave yesterday, and he said the head of the department showed him some of the work of some of his other, most promising students. Ones who weren’t eligible to compete in our little competition. He mentioned one young man’s work in particular, said we should keep an eye on him because he’s going to be something truly special. Kirishima has requested that he be the one to bring the papers. Says I should meet this boy.”

“Fucking hell, Asami, it’s not like you need Kirishima to pick out your dates for you anymore,” says Akihito, rolling his eyes, then sitting up straighter and glaring suspiciously at Asami. “AT least you better not!”

Asami absently grabs the finger Aki points accusingly at him and tugs Aki close with it, nipping the offending digit and then kissing Akihito’s sullen, adorable little mouth.

“I never needed him to pick out my dates. And if you don’t know you’re practically more than I can handle and that I come home to my adorable little wife….” He grins wickedly and deftly stops Aki from biting him back at the wife comment. “Who waits so obediently and demurely at home for me. Now stop that, I’m pretty sure your cute little ass is still sore from yesterday. You know you’re the only one for me, darling brat. Well. And occasionally Feilong,” he amends with a wink.

“FeiFei doesn’t count,” pouts Aki, then forgets his snit in the face of curiosity. “Why do you care who this kid is anyw...oh no. It can’t be, can it?”

“I’m wondering how many graduate students in Architecture there can possibly be with a build like yours and blue eyes,” muses Asami. “Ah, there he is.”

Akihito stares in horror at the boy shaking hands with Kirishima on the security camera’s screen.

“Is that him?” He hadn’t gotten a look at their little spy, for which he’s grateful now, because this would be a lot worse if they’d actually made eye contact.

“Oh yes. Couldn’t you guess by his body language even if you didn’t see his face?”

“He looks terrified,” says Aki grudgingly, feeling his heart sink. He’d like to just be pissed at the little shit for what he’d done. But after what Asami had said about it, and now looking at this other boy, he finds that he simply can’t be. The boy’s face is pale, his eyes big and frightened in a terribly cute face. He looks tense and miserable, his fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically. “Oh no,” murmurs Akihito. “A puppy.”

“You don’t have to meet him if you don’t want to,” says Asami gently. “I don’t mean to humiliate you, Aki-kun. I just wanted you to see him, to see what I meant.”

“He probably thinks you’re going to kill him,” mutters Aki grudgingly. “No, I’ll stay. You’re going to loom and be terrifying before you let him off the hook, and I better be here to keep you from giving him a heart attack.”

Asami winks and places a hand on his heart, affecting a wounded expression as if to say, “I? How can you say such things?” Aki flips him off and leaves the security offices, shaking his head and muttering some more. Asami smirks and presses a button, murmuring into Kirishima’s headset that he can send the boy up, Asami will sign his papers for him right away.

Haru hovers outside the door of Asami's office. His arm simply won't cooperate when he tells it to knock on the door. Asami Ryuichi is just on the other side, waiting in all his terrible glory, and Haru honestly doesn't think he can do it. He envisions the shameful scene of having to explain to his parents that he was kicked out of school for being a pervert. Then he spends several seconds considering seppuku. Unfortunately, he doesn't even _have_ swords with which to disembowel himself.

A sudden desperate thought seizes him. Maybe Asami didn't get a really good look at him. Maybe this is all just what his professor thinks it is. Maybe his entire world won't fall apart when he opens the door. On the wings of that flimsy hope, he manages to lift his hand and knock.

The door clicks and begins to swing open automatically. "Enter," the unmistakable sound of Asami's voice reaches him. Trying to hide his trembling by straightening to his full height and holding his breath, Haru steps inside the tastefully elegant room. His tissue-thin hope immediately disintegrates when he meets Asami's knowing gaze. And his stomach drops like a stone to his very toes when he sees the boy perched on the corner of the huge desk Asami sits behind.

With the early, golden, afternoon light streaming through the huge picture windows of the office, they don't even look real. They look untouchable, divine, completely out of his reach, judging him with cool, assessing eyes. Panic claws its way up into Haru's chest, but the door has already clicked shut behind him.

Without thought, he bends his body at the waist to the precise acceptable level when someone of his status meets someone of Asami's status. Not all of the younger generation were as adept at the art these days, but his parents had taught him well, with his grandparents help. He falls back on that early training that's become almost instinctive by this point. It soothes him, just a little, to rely on this commonplace ritual.

He extends the duration, holding the 45-degree angle to silently express his apologies, but in those long seconds, he can't help thinking that perhaps Asami won't be satisfied unless he performs a full, kneeling bow. It makes his stomach lurch with a sensation that's confusing and distressing, all the more so for not being entirely unpleasant. Slowly, he unbends to silence and dares to raise his eyes again to the man's unyielding gaze. Despite his fear, Haru is once more struck by the man's startling attractiveness and his sheer presence. The two of them together make such a picture of perfection that Haru's regret feels like a huge stone in the pit of stomach. 

“Ito Haruki, is it?” says Asami with a smirk. Akihito has to consciously force himself not to roll his eyes. Asami’s rich baritone is nearly a growl, and the poor kid standing by the door visibly trembles as he gives a jerky nod. “I am Asami Ryuichi. We meet at last.”

He stands up and turns his back on Ito, looking out the window so the kid can’t see the salacious, wicked grin he sends Aki’s way. Aki glares at him warningly, but knows Asami’s going to ignore him, so he sends the poor boy what he hopes is an encouraging smile.

“Oh but _that’s_ right,” muses Asami as though he’s only just remembered it. “We’ve already met.” He spins on his heel and pins the poor kid to the floor with the gimlet stare he reserves for business rivals he’s about to destroy. “Haven’t. We.” His mouth curves slowly into an evil smirk as Ito Haruki pales and clutches desperately at the papers he’s brought.

“P-p-please forgive me, A-asami-s-sama,” he stammers faintly, “I-I-I didn’t meant to...to...spy on…”

“Yes,” says Asami flatly, “you did.”

Poor Haruki turns scarlet with humiliation and looks like he’s about to cry. Akihito finds it awfully hard to hold on to his own resentment and embarrassment that their privacy had been violated and that this stranger had seen...well, what he’d seen. After all, it wasn’t like they’d been messing around in the privacy of their own home. It had been a public place.

“I...I…” begins the student, struggling for a response.

“What I’d like to know,” muses Asami, slowly stalking the boy, who can see perfectly well that Asami’s tiger-like stroll around the room as he leaves the window is gradually bringing him closer, “is...did you like what you saw? And…,” he comes to a halt not three feet from where Ito is standing, looming over him and staring blandly down at him with a cold expression. His eyes are sparkling with humor, but you have to know him to see it. Aki’s heart aches with sympathy for the boy, who gapes up at Asami in horror. “What am I going to do about it?”

This close, Asami's presence is simply terrifying. The only thing that keeps Haru from breaking down completely is the fact that he knows he deserves the treatment he's getting. He _did_ spy on them. If he had just walked away when he first looked through that window and saw them, if he done what any decent person would have done, he wouldn't be standing here in shame now. The very least he can do now is stand and take with whatever dignity he can scrape together whatever Asami has in store for him. It won't lessen his disgrace, but it will keep it from deepening. He won't compound his errors.

But Asami's questions make his heart stutter, and he blushes furiously. Haru squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and he swallows, trying to form words around what feels like a stone in his throat. Asami can't really expect to answer the first question. He _can't_. But Haru can't stop the memories of his shameful actions of the night before, when he'd touched himself over and over thinking about what he had witnessed at the University. His heavy blush darkens, and he looks up at Asami with wild eyes. "I...I was wrong to watch you. I knew..." he adds wretchedly. "I knew it was wrong, but I...but I..."

He's unaware of the naked longing that suffuses his face, the way his fingers curl tightly into his palms. Asami looks utterly implacable, and Haru realizes that he can't make excuses. There aren't any. The outcome is in this man's hands. A fatalistic resignation stiffens Haru's spine, and he meets that cold, intimidating gaze with his own raw, but tremulous courage. "I'm ready," he says, his wobbly voice countering his bold words. "I'm ready to accept your..." _Punishment_ , Haru's mind whispers, and that distressing/delicious tingle in his stomach intensifies, spreading through his body like a fast-acting drug, "...decision."

Asami sees it in his eyes. Naked desire so powerful he can nearly taste it himself. He glances at Akihito, who is looking at the boy with sympathy in his eyes, and wonders at the pang of guilt he feels for how strongly this young man calls to him. He knows it’s absurd to do what he’s about to do, for so many reasons. Akihito is the jealous type and may not forgive him easily. May, in fact, attempt to geld him right here and now. The lawsuit the boy could bring against him would definitely be troublesome. The stink he could raise over it alone would be annoying to deal with if he’s not willing to have the poor boy disappear. But he can hear is echoing in the silence before Haruki manages to choke out the word “decision,” what he wants to say instead, and he can’t resist.

“It would serve you right if I gave you a taste of what you saw,” he purrs, leaning closer. And what business does this child have smelling so good? The young man gasps at his words and a visible tremor shakes his slender body. “Naughty little boys, after all,” he continues ruthlessly, knowing he’s being cruel because he has no intention of actually following through with it but unable to stop himself because it’s so _delicious_ , “deserve to be _punished_.”

“Asami, cut it out,” says Aki angrily, hopping off the desk and stalking over to grab his arm. “You’re being mean. This poor kid couldn’t handle the stuff we do, he’s obviously scared to death and he’d just fall on the floor and cry. It’s okay, Ito-kun. Not everybody’s as tough as me.” He means it to be comforting….mostly. But he’s man enough to admit to himself that it’s also a little bit of a dig, because this kid saw him _crying_ and that’s pretty embarrassing.

Humiliation seeps into Haru's skin. It burns and crawls inside him, but at the same time a shuddery sort of anticipation makes his eyes darken. He knows Asami can't really mean what he's saying, that he's just messing with him, and just as clearly Haru realizes with a desperate, driving need just how much he wishes he _does_ mean it. He wants this man's hands on him more than anything he's wanted in a long time, maybe ever.

But he belongs to this boy beside him, and the boy belongs to him. The boy whose eyes look at him with such pity and a hint of condescension. It hurts. Oh, it hurts so much. They're both just playing with him, ridiculing him, and maybe he deserves it, but he hadn't _meant_ any harm. He knows it was wrong, but their scorn does sting terribly, and he thinks of Issa, but somehow this is much worse because they...they _have_ what he so desperately wants, and they must know what's it like to feel these things, to want...

But they still think he's something pathetic. A joke.

Even as a profound part of him shrivels inside him, Haru's chin comes up. His battered pride looses his tongue. He lets it run away before his mind can filter his words.

"I'm not a kid!" he says to Aki, and then he looks to Asami, his lips forming defiant words. "And you can't make _me_ cry."

Akihito and Asami share an astonished look and Aki lets go of Asami’s arm and steps back, holding his hands up and shooting Haruki an affronted glare.

“I take it back,” he says, and then grins. “Do it, Asami.”

“Akihito,” says Asami, more surprised by Aki’s reaction than he is by the young man’s outburst, “are you sure?”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody who needed a spanking more. Maybe not even Feilong. You just better remember that you asked for it,” he adds darkly to the boy from the University, trying not to pay attention to the way his eyes seem to flinch and he looks like he wants to throw himself at Aki’s feet and cry.

“I’m not afraid,” says the boy in response, even though he’s trembling.

“You don’t need to be,” says Aki softly, relenting a great deal, because he realizes that it’s absolutely true that this boy does need a spanking...but that it’s not because he’s bad or mean or cruel. “But,” he adds with a cocky grin as he trots over to the sofa against the wall and perches on it, “I bet you’re _totally_ gonna cry!”

Asami wonders briefly when the hell this train wreck managed to get away with him and if he’s actually standing here contemplating spanking a complete stranger in his office in the middle of the day while his lover watches, but when he looks at Akihito, Aki gives him a little shoo-ing gesture with his hands to tell him to get on with it. He decides to give the poor boy one more chance to leave with his dignity intact.

“Very well then, if you’re so tough and so very brave...this is your last chance. Turn around a walk out right now, and leave the papers with my assistant. I’ll have them delivered this afternoon. There will be no reprisals. You’re free to go. Or,” he steps back out of the way and gestures towards the broad expanse of his enormous mahogany desk with a sweep of his arm, “bend over that desk and drop your pants.”

He could do it, he could just walk out. There's truth in Asami's voice, and Haru believes that he could walk out the door right now and face no reprisals. But he doesn't consider it for even a second. Even though his heart is battering like a terrified bird against his rib cage, when the other alternative is laid before him, there's only one path to take.

It's still difficult to make his feet move, but they do almost of their own volition. He walks past Asami, white-faced, to stand in front of the desk. His resolution falters for an instant as he the full import of what he's about to do hits him. Can he really reveal himself like this? Can he really let two complete strangers see him so vulnerable and so desperate? God, he's going to willingly expose himself in some business tycoon's office, in front of his lover, in bright daylight, to be _spanked_. For _punishment_.

How bad will it be? And then, he thinks, how bad does he _want_ it to be? Haru shivers, fright and anticipation and raw, unyielding desire inducing a sense of vertigo and dislocation.

Before he can give into his fear, Haru fumbles with his fly, and then pushes his pants down quickly. The blood is rushing in his ears as he bends over the imposing desk, pressing his hands against the shockingly cool surface as if holding on for dear life. The point of no return.

The office is excruciatingly quiet. No one speaks, no one moves, no one makes a sound until Haru releases a jagged little breath that makes him realize he'd been holding it in for some time. It sounds almost like a muffled sob.

Asami strolls over to stand beside the trembling boy bent willingly over his desk. He rests his hand on the small of Haruki’s back and leans down.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Tough guy. I can’t make you cry, hm? I’m wondering why on earth you’d say that, little boy, when it’s the one thing you want most in the world. You’re trembling, _Haru_. I’m wondering what it is you’re afraid of. That I’m really going to do it, really spank you. So long. So _hard_. Just the way you’ve always dreamed...or that I won’t?”

He stands up straight and very slowly unbuckles his belt, then draws it through his belt loops, one at a time. He sees Haruki’s eyes slide sideways to watch him doing in, fascinated, unable to look away. He takes in the frisson that goes through the boy’s body at the chink of the buckle, the hiss of leather on cloth. His reaction is so honest, so visceral, it can’t possibly be feigned.

Still moving slowly, assessing, he grabs the buckle in his fist and wraps the leather around it, once, twice, three times.

“I’d make you count, but I don’t think you’re getting a predetermined number of strokes. I think…” He brings the strap down across the bared cheeks with a sharp crack. There’s not a lot of force behind it...yet. But it leaves a red mark, and he knows it has to sting. “I’ll just keep going until we find out what you need.”

Haru manages not to cry out when the strap lands on his ass, but just barely. Asami taunting him with the idea that perhaps he _wouldn't_ follow through had wrenched a cry of denial from Haru only contained by the tight press of his lips. The mortification of placing himself in this position only to be mocked for his presumption would be unbearable. It made his eyes sting fiercely, but the snap of leather brings a different kind of sting, and he sways under the sensation. Asami can't--he _can't_ be toying with him--he just can't. Haru couldn't bear it if Asami laughs at him and tosses him out now.

He wants to feel that burn again. Again and again until it consumes him. His desperation sends his mind delving for provocative words, digging himself a deeper hole that he won't be able to climb out of, that Asami won't be able to turn away from. "Are...are you sure about that, _Ryuichi_?" he asks with an amazed kind of horror at his own impertinence, "because it kind of sounds like you might be all talk."

Asami lets out a startled laugh before he can stop himself, then shakes his head.

“If that’s the way you want to play this, that’s the way we’ll play it. For now. You’re an impertinent…”

He puts just a little more force behind his second stroke then the first. The boy’s reaction to it tells him this isn’t going to be any hothouse flower who’s going to wilt at the first sign of a little heat.

“Rude…”

Another stroke, harder still. The boy hasn’t stopped trembling. His hands are clenched into fists, and he flinches with every blow…

But no. Asami gives him the next stroke silently, and Haruki gasps and almost seems to lift his hips as though asking for more. No, he’s flinching at the _words_.

“Are you done?” he hisses, leaning down close to the boy’s ear. “Done with the act, Ito Haruki? Because I’m not going to stop, no matter what you say. Why don’t you show me the real you now, because this attitude is insulting to both of us, and believe me...you’ve earned your spanking with or without it.”

Haru lifts his head like a startled deer. Asami has seen right through him. He _knows_ what Haru is trying to do. An excruciating wave of self-consciousness washes over him, and Haru panics. He has no idea what to do or say. How can he give in so easily, expose himself so deeply by acknowledging Asami's words, especially with another set of eyes on him too? How can he truly show what he is, what he so desperately wants, in front of them? It's too daunting, too huge a risk...

But he could almost cry from just hearing Asami say that he won't stop. And even if he can't quite bring himself to give in, to admit even to himself how purely and deep his own desire is to be brought low, to be broken down and shattered in ways he doesn't even begin to know how to verbalize, Haru can't bring himself to deny it either, no matter how vulnerable it makes him feel.

 _Impertinent. Rude. Insulting._ The throb in his chest when Asami named him those things still resonates. Oh, he really doesn't want to be. He doesn't want to be like that _at all_ , but he chokes on his own words, his emotions, the need and also shame that makes him struggle even now against what he truly wants.

"M-make me..." he almost whispers, but it somehow comes out a plea instead of a demand. And then, even softer. "Please..."

Asami chuckles softly and puts some real force behind the next stroke with the belt. The boy’s unfairly cute little ass is quite red now, but he still bites his lip at each stroke, worrying at his own flesh so that is already looks red and raw where his teeth dig in. Asami can picture it all too well, sucking that pouting bottom lip into his mouth and nipping it sharply, swallowing the whimpers it draws from the slender column of the boy’s pale throat…

He glances at Akihito, who is staring at them with his eyes wide and his pupils blown large and dark, biting his own lip and not even trying to hide how aroused he is at the sight. Asami hopes his little lover doesn’t have plans for a while, because he’s going to be pretty busy for the foreseeable future once this little miscreant is dealt with. He lets some of that promise show in his gaze, and Aki gasps softly. Then he turns his attention back to the young man submissively bent over his desk. Haruki doesn’t move a muscle, waiting for the next blow as though he’s frozen in place, as though if he moves he’s going to shatter the spell surrounding him that is making his darkest desires come true. Well...some of them anyway. Asami has a feeling this is barely scratching the surface of this boy’s darker desires. How he hasn’t been snapped up by someone yet is incredible. He has an irresistible combination of innocence and depravity. Asami slaps the leather hard across the underside of the rounded curves of Haruki’s bottom, then leans down again to murmur filth into his ear, which is bright red with humiliation and awful pleasure. Haruki shudders, but doesn’t make a sound.

“Mm. So fight it then, you filthy little boy. Fight against taking what’s coming to you. Against how much it hurts and burns and stings. Against how badly your body craves it. Ohh I can feel it. Fight against the whimpers and the cries, against letting me see your tears. Tough little bad boy. You’re adorable. You’re so close to what you need. I’m going to give it to you, you know. There’s nothing you can do about it. That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? I’m going to spank you until you cry big, fat, little boy tears and beg and beg me to stop.”

With that, he grabs a handful of the boy’s hair and drags him bodily (but bent over at the waist, both to enforce the helplessness of his position and to protect his modesty a little) over to the sofa, where he sits down and then throws the boy over his knees, positioning him effortlessly just where he wants him, with his backside in the air and one hand held firmly behind his back so that if he struggles too much, he’ll only hurt himself.

“Akihito,” he says pleasantly, “will you be so kind as to go and get me the big wooden hairbrush out of my executive washroom, please?”

“Ohh, absolutely,” snickers Aki, and rushes to obey Asami faster than he probably ever has in all the time they’ve known each other. He takes the brush from Aki when he hands it over, handle-first. Asami doesn’t think anyone has ever used this particular hairbrush to actually brush their hair. He keeps it in the bathroom so that the sight of it won’t seem odd, but the only reason it’s here at all is for its use as an extremely effective paddle. It’s made of highly polished walnut, dark and softly gleaming and very hard, bigger than the palm of his hand and with a comfortable handle. He rubs the back of it in small circles against Ito’s reddened bottom.

“Ever had your bottom paddled with a hairbrush, little boy? It hurts like mad. Like having your ass roasted. Mamas and Papas wouldn’t have been using it to punish naughty children for hundreds of years if it wasn’t damned effective. Come into my office and fling attitude at me? You’d better learn to curb your tongue and say you’re sorry pretty damned quick, because my arm’s nowhere near tired and your cute little bare bottom looks like it’s really starting to hurt.”

Oh, it does hurt, no matter how many cries Haru has managed to contain so far. His bottom stings and throbs, and Haru squirms, envisioning the picture he makes over Asami's lap. The boy--Akihito, Asami called him--witnessing it all. And no matter that a warm bloom of heat ignites in his belly at it all, Haru struggles against the vulnerability that forces him into being the bad boy Asami calls him. He fights against his position across Asami's lap just to feel the inexorable force of Asami's arm pinning him down and writhes beneath the cool wood of the hairbrush pressed against his warmed flesh. The threat of it--the promise--makes him whimper a soft breath.

With a soft laugh, he lifts the hairbrush and brings it cracking down across the boy’s ass. The sting sears in like he’s been branded. Asami waits, letting the bite of it sink in, letting the boy realize what’s coming, then he just starts to paddle the naked ass hard, one solid swat after another, blistering heat that builds and builds. He covers the surface of both cheeks and stings the backs of little Haruki’s squirming legs. He lifts his knee a little, tilting the young man’s hips up further, and punishes all along the crease where his ass and thighs meet, where he’ll have to sit on his sore backside for days and days. He pauses for a second and shoves Haruki’s legs apart, then spanks sharply on the soft, tender skin of his inner thighs. Grinning at the way the boy is showing signs of strain now, Asami spanks hard all the way up along the crack of his ass, the compression of the hard, heavy wood forcing the boy’s cheeks slightly apart so that fiery pain bites at the tender skin there. So close to his vulnerable little asshole. He notices when the poor boy stops struggling and lets go of his wrist. There’s no danger of him trying to escape now. His hand strokes gently up the young man’s spine under his shirt where it has rucked up in back, gently tracing the knobs of his spine. Then he takes his hand away, noticing that Haruki lets out a small whine at the loss, until he feels it on the back of his head, petting softly, strong fingers tousling his hair a little. 

“I know this hurts so much. Poor little boy. Hurts and stings and _burns_. You’re so sore, aren’t you? And you know what? I love it. I love the way you squirm and twitch, the sounds you’re trying so hard to hide. I love the way you quiver and flinch. Come on now, who are you even fighting anymore? Let. Go.”

The hairbrush smacks down hard again and again, and Asami’s gentle fingers in the boy’s hair crash into the walls of his resistance like the coming tide. The small tenderness of his touch in counterpoint to the hard, remorseless spanking is hard, so hard to defend against. Asami glances up at Aki again and sees the sympathy in his boy’s eyes. Akihito has been here before, especially earlier on when he still struggled against his own feelings so much. Wondering to himself as he struggled inside, _Will he hug me if I cry? Will he laugh? Throw me on the floor and walk away? Pick me up and tell me I’m…._

It’s terrifying. But Asami's voice echoes in Haru's mind. He's not going to stop. Haru clings to that incredible source of bizarre comfort in the midst of all the pain. He knows Asami isn't lying, and oh...oh it hurts _terribly_ , but the truth of it laid out in stripes on his raw flesh finally begins to soften Haru, to loosen something inside him that's been tied up in impossible, twisted knots for so very long.

He holds it in as long as he can, but he can't hold out forever. The white hot pain burns across his thighs and ass just the way Asami promised. His breath stops tight in his throat. He couldn't utter a word to halt this now if he wanted to.

He doesn't want to, though. Asami is deep inside his head, and he's helpless to do more than sink deeper into the spell he's weaving. All of his resistance crumbles, and his body seems to melt against Asami, giving in to the terrible, stinging blows.

His tears spill out over his flushed cheeks, growing thicker with each moment. "Suh-sorry. I'm s-sorry, Asami-sama," he sobs hoarsely. The feeling of exposure his breakdown brings is almost more excruciating than the pain, but he surrenders to it with a helpless sort of abandon. "Nghh...oh, please..." 

Asami slows the rapid assault on Haruki’s sore, burning ass but doesn’t stop, murmuring softly to you between nasty, cruel spanks,

“That’s it. I know you’re sorry. Bad little boys are always sorry when their cute little bottoms are being punished. Please what, little boy? You’ll have to beg prettier than that if you want me to stop. I don’t think you do though, not yet. Not until you’re _sobbing_.” 

Though it probably doesn’t seem possible to his poor victim, he brings the brush down even harder on the raw cheeks. There’s not a centimeter of skin on Ito’s backside or upper thighs that isn’t blazing with hot, fiery red. Watching, enraptured, Akihito knows it’s overwhelming. That part of the boy wants to panic when Asami doesn’t stop, but that those gentle fingers carding softly through his hair make him feel oddly safe. They can both see it, in the way the young man leans his head into the touch. Akihito’s breath catches in his throat. He’s only ever watched Asami with Feilong, and it’s different, so very different from this. Feilong has long since come to terms with what he wants, did so almost from the start, and revels in it. Aside from that, more and more lately Feilong turns to Yoh as their relationship blossoms. Aki’s happy for them, knows that Feilong gets something from Yoh that Asami will never be able to give him, the complete devotion in the way Yoh loves Fei with all his heart, and it’s beautiful, even if it makes Akihito a little wistful at the way things are changing. But this boy...oh, he’s so fragile somehow, innocent and yet not, and he’s really cute too. Asami’s just gorgeous right now, cruel and unrelenting, but he’s being kind too, almost gentle. It’s making him really hot, watching them, and yet he feels like he’d like to pick this poor kid up and just cuddle him too. He sits motionless, unwilling to do anything to break the spell Asami’s weaving around them all.

Then Asami stops spanking Haruki momentarily to stroke his fingertips lightly over his thoroughly beaten backside. 

“Do you know you’re gorgeous like this? So sad, so fragile, so PUNISHED. Can you beg nicely, little boy? Hm? If you do, I’ll give you a dozen more strokes and then I’ll stop hurting your poor, hot little ass. But sweetheart? Mm. You’re REALLY going to feel them.”

A choked sob forces its way past Haru's constricted throat, and his face turns instinctively toward the hand stroking through his hair. Even the light brush of fingers across the tender skin of his ass makes him whimper, but he presses up into that touch too. His eyes feel hot and swollen from his efforts to not expose himself utterly, to not break down _completely_ in front of these two almost strangers. The burning tears that have left his cheeks wet and sticky with their salt is proof that that all his efforts are failing. Asami isn't allowing him to hide. He somehow sees right through to everything Haru has hidden for so long.

And, oh, he _wants_ to let go, but a nagging, nameless worry paralyzes him, the terrible vulnerability that he both craves and fears. Haru sobs again, struggling to form words, but his lips tremble, and the promise of _more_ punishment makes his insides clench in a mixture of dread and anticipation. Asami's not going to stop until he's satisfied.

A part of Haru thrills to the inevitability, but it hurts _so_ much already, and he knows if it goes on any longer, he _will_ shatter. He'll fall apart at this man's feet, under his lover's eyes too, and Haru doesn't know if he'll be able to pick up the pieces. Another sob escapes him, and the tight knot of anxiety and want and need dammed up inside his chest swells almost to the bursting point.

Asami raises an eyebrow as he takes in the boy’s reaction. He’s _still_ fighting it, even though Asami would bet a very large portion of his fortune that this is exactly what the boy wants. He wonders what went into locking him away inside himself so tightly that he’s this determined not to let them see it, and then wonders why the fuck he’s wondering. But it’s become a contest of wills now, and Asami doesn’t lose those. His voice obviously affects his cute little victim almost as much as the spanking. Well then.

“Look at you. You’re just desperate. Come on, you adorable brat. You know you need this. No, you don’t just need it. You absolutely require it.”

He roughly forces Haruki’s legs apart, pulling a shocked gasp from the boy’s lungs, and his thighs are shaking a little. He shakes his head in frightened negation, as if to say, _Oh not there_ , but he doesn’t seem to remember how to form words and of course they wouldn’t matter anyway, not unless they were the words Asami demands from him. The sound of the hairbrush impacting the exquisitely tender, silky skin inside his thighs must sound like a rifle shot in the hurting boy’s ears. Asami doesn’t spank him as fast as he had been, because he doesn’t need to anymore, but he does spank steadily. He waits between burning, stinging smacks, lets his fingertips trickle down between Haruki’s legs and it’s obvious that oh…oh it hurts so much, even that softest of touches, but the intimacy of the caress is somehow even more shattering than the pain. Then, as the young man is squirming under his stroking, the older man stops and blisters his legs again, and then the crease between his bottom and thighs where he sits.

“Come on, you stubborn boy. It isn’t losing, you know. You’re not beaten. Well…ha…obviously you’re being beaten…but it’s not about win or lose. This isn’t a competition. Just a spanked, naughty boy getting what he wants so bad. You’re scared? Don’t be a fool. Don’t deny yourself what you want so badly you can’t even put it in words. Had to come here and pull a tough guy act to try and force me to deal with you. Silly boy. You could have just asked. I saw your face while you were watching us. I tried to catch you that day, but not to berate you. I’d have answered your questions, and after that, if you’d wanted to know what it was like, as long as Akihito didn’t mind, I’d have shown you. Because you obviously need this so badly it haunts you. 

“I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have minded,” whispers Akihito, his voice thick with unshed tears, because Ito Haruki’s inner pain and his outward struggle are so painful they’re _hurting_ Aki, and he longs to comfort him. He doesn’t know why, or how, but he wants Haruki to feel better, to stop feeling as bad as he obviously does inside, and Aki doesn’t know why, but he wants to know, and wants to help, and to be this boy’s friend even though that makes no sense at all with the way things have happened. He should be pissed, or jealous, or at least offended as hell, but he’s not. He wants to yell at Asami to stop, stop hurting Haruki, but even he can tell that it’s not time for him to stop.

“Ah,” continues Asami, “but you wanted me to MAKE you take this, didn’t you? How do you like it now? Do you know what I think? I think you love it as much as you hate it. You want me to stop, because it hurts so BAD. But you don’t want me to stop. For the same reason. And that’s okay. You’re getting your naughty ass and thighs paddled until you give me what I want. I can do this all day. Believe me, your bottom can’t take it. I’ll hear you beg, boy. Sooner or later. How bad you’re hurting when that happens is up to you.” 

Haru's fingers curl into fists, and he shakes his head miserably.

"I...I didn't mean it," his voice quavers terribly, and he flushes with shame. "I didn't _want_ to be so...so bad...I'm _sorry_." He looks up for the first time, seeing Akihito, watching him with nothing but compassion in his eyes. Haru's shame deepens. This boy, who has just uttered some of the most generous words Haru has ever heard, Haru doesn't deserve his kindness. "Oh, please...I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't mean to watch you. I should have walked away, but...but somehow I...I _couldn't_. And I'm s-sorry for coming here and...and..." His chest hitches on a ragged breath. "I'm _sorry_ for being so r-rude...so disrespectful. I don't mean it," he sobs. "I don't. It's just...it's just so _hard_. I wasn't...I don't...I...I just wanted...needed... _please_."

His voice breaks on the last word of his incoherent please, and that's all it takes. He hides his face in the cushion of the couch and releases a torrent of sobs and tears.

“I understand. I do. It isn’t the same if you have to ask for it, is it? Not when you need to be _punished_. If you ask to be spanked, then it’s for play, not for real, is it not, little brat? You’re being honest now,” says Asami softly. He gently strokes the boy’s back, but Akihito can’t help but notice that the hairbrush is still resting on Haruki’s throbbing backside. “I’d stop now that you’re being honest with both of us, sweet boy, but it wouldn’t be enough for you. You had to fight this for so long, and I’m going to give you what I promised you. You’ve been punished for being rude. These last twelve are because of your own stubbornness in refusing to admit why you’re here. And you need to pay for it, don’t you, naughty boy? To feel like you got what you needed. Oh, you don’t want anymore. Your bottom hurts so bad. But I have to give them to you, or you won’t walk away from here having gotten EXACTLY what you came for.” He settles back further on the couch so that the boy’s body is entirely supported by it as he lays there bawling, draped over Asami’s lap. “Now this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to raise your cute little punished ass for me. Arch your back and lift it up , with your knees apart. And you’re going to stay just like that. You can howl and cry all you need to, or beg or promise me anything you want, but you’re not to move. These last dozen spanks are going to really hurt.”

Trembling with fear and likely a faint horror that it could possibly hurt MORE, Haruki presses his knees into the sofa and slowly lifts his hips into the air, off Asami’s thigh, upon which he’s left an embarrassing wet spot, but Asami doesn’t say anything about it or even seem to notice. The boy buries his face in his crossed arms and shivers when the cool wood of the hairbrush strokes his hot, aching flesh softly, rubbing in circles. He asks if the boy is ready and Aki can see him think about saying no, but he doesn’t. He nods! Aki watches, fascinated and horrified all at the same time as the brush is lifted and he sees the shift and play of muscle in his lover’s body, the more marked tensing of his torso that warns of the increased force he’s going to put into the rest of this spanking.

SPLAT!

The first stroke blisters across the lowest curve of Haruki’s left cheek, right along the crease where he’s already spanked the hardest. It literally steals the boy’s breath.

CRACK!!

The second stroke mirrors the first, on the right cheek. He’s writhing a little (though he keeps his knees planted, even though it _must_ be so _hard_!) but when Asami makes a soft ‘Tch’ sound, he stops and bravely offers up his sore backside for the man to torment. Will Asami think he’s brave? Akihito thinks so. Thinks he’s brave and beautiful as well. And he understands that desperate desire for Asami’s approval, that he might indeed also think Haruki is brave. Be…maybe…even a little…proud of him? Or at least forgive him for being a snarky brat? Asami pauses for almost a full minute between each brutal stroke, and for some reason it makes the boy cry harder when he strokes his left hand up Haruki’s folded arms and gently takes his hand, squeezing firmly and not letting go. 

Haru latches onto Asami's hand with a death grip, squeezing so hard he's vaguely aware that it must hurt, but he can't let go for anything. The unexpected show of...something like tenderness makes his heart skip erratically for a few beats. He's so raw and wrecked, trying so hard to keep the position that Asami wants from him. But it's so terribly exposing, so scary, and it's almost impossible to stay still when he knows another one is coming, but not quite when. Even more mortifying is the proof of his unflagging arousal that he can't conceal in this position. Even through the worst of the pain, his cock throbs with a steady ache that reminds him just how shameful he really is.

The hairbrush cracks again across his rounded ass where the skin is pulled so tight it seems to make the slap of wood on flesh even louder. He cries out sharply, then dissolves into anguished moans. The wait for the next one is almost unbearable. "Oh, please, Asami...Asami-sama. Faster. Go faster, please...I...I _can't_..."

It has to be over soon. It _has_ to be.

His knees quiver, digging deeper in the cushion as he struggles to keep his hips in the air. He deserves the prolonged punishment. He knows that's true. And the deeper truth is how very much he _does_ crave it. Everything Asami-sama has said is true. But Asami is so very strong, and Haru's upthrust bottom burns and throbs.

Even though he shouldn't be asking for any kind of mercy, Haru can't help begging. "I'm really, ruh-really suh-sorry," he chokes out through his thick tears. He blind with them, and they pool and run over the leather cushion he's pressed against.

"For--for all of it. For being b-bad and...and stubb--ahhh!"

He wails as another stroke lands so hard he'd swear his poor abused backside was actually aflame. "Ahhh, please, please, _oh please_! I won't do it again! I'll be...I'll be g-good. I'll be so good. I swear!"

With desperate instinct, he twists his face blindly toward their joined fingers and presses his lips against Asami's curled fingers in mute appeal.

Asami aims the next few vicious blows at the boy’s upper thighs. He smiles to himself while he wields the brush, a feral grin he’s glad the kid can’t see. This is…it’s exquisite, is what it is. He doesn’t do this often, because Feilong doesn’t need this…oh, he needs the pain, but not to be made to feel like a punished little boy…and poor Aki probably couldn’t take it! He’d nearly forgotten the vicious thrill in his blood that he feels in bringing a deserving little brat to real tears, not as part of a roleplay scene but because it’s what he NEEDS and craves and Asami’s just the man to give it to him. He doesn’t care about the dark stain on his Armani slacks. Oh, he’s noticed, but he loves it, loves that this feisty young man with his bravado and his big talk is bawling like a little boy just for him, and that despite the horrid pain in his very cute little ass, he’s still aroused. Despite it, or because of it. But no. Getting off on pain is what Feilong does. This poor boy is just hurting. Hurting, and sobbing, and so, SO sorry, and it’s fantastic. It’s gorgeous. The pleas for mercy have his own cock stirring in his pants. Not that he’d cheat on his lovers, though he imagines Akihito’s going to be rather startled at what happens to him in a little bit, but it IS arousing, and the boy is sweet and lovely to Asami in his sorrow and pain. When he feels the trembling lips press against his fingers, Asami’s breath catches in his chest. Gods, this one is too delicious to be true! He hadn’t intended to grant the crying little brat’s plea for him to hurry, but that damp, fervent kiss does something to him. There are only four to go now anyway. He doesn’t spare the boy’s tender flesh. No, he won’t rob him of one bit of what he’s promised, but he doesn’t drag them out either. Two cruel, hard cracks of the hairbrush to the reddened inner thighs, then he brings the last two spanks down as hard as he can in this position (which is pretty fucking hard). The elevation of the young man’s hips and the lovely curve of his arched spine have served to part his cheeks a little. The paler, unpunished skin inside his crack is visible, as is a hint of the dark shadow of his hole. Asami spanks him there, directly over the barely splayed crack of his ass, so that the hot sting bites at hideously tender, unblemished skin, hard enough so that he knows the sting of it stabs at his sweet little pucker just a little. He closes his eyes and allows himself about five seconds of relishing the agonized wails the final blows wrench from his poor victim.

The poor boy doesn’t register that it’s over at first. It’s not until he finds himself lifted bodily out of the position he’s now holding on to for dear life, concentrating every ounce of his will on not trying to escape Asami’s punishment, that he realizes it has indeed stopped. He’s crying too hard to yelp in shock when Asami effortlessly tugs him off his knees. He arranges the boy carefully, his knees framing the older man’s hips, his raw, spanked bottom mercifully held between Asami’s strong thighs so that the expensive wool of his pants makes no contact with Haruki’s pulverized ass. He pulls the boy’s body against him (and the young man’s weeping cock is making a terrible mess of his very expensive shirt now, but he doesn’t care), wraps an arm around his back to hold him close, and gently presses his head down to rest on Asami’s broad shoulder, his big hand softly cupping the roundness of the boy’s skull, his tears and snot wetting the man’s collar. He smiles to himself when Haruki nuzzles at his neck and sniffles deeply, inhaling his scent and relaxing into it. He feels the moment the boy recognizes that Asami’s own erection is pressed firmly against him through his vicuna wool slacks and he tenses a little in shock, but Asami doesn’t make an issue of it, so the boy relaxes again.

“Hush now. It’s all over. You’re forgiven. Shh. Such a good, brave boy. I’ve got you. Hang on to me. I won’t let go. Hush sweetheart. You took your punishment so well, little boy, and I’m impressed,” murmurs Asami softly into Haruki’s ear

He holds and comforts and fusses over the boy until he stops crying. It doesn’t matter that his eyes are red and puffy and that his nose is running and that he’s smearing body fluids on Asami. In these moments, he is beautiful. He unhurriedly locks those powerful arms around the shuddering little body and whispers nonsense in Haruki’s ear. There’s no impatience, no sense that he’s watching any kind of clock or in any hurry whatsoever. When the young man’s sobbing fades to soft little hiccuping whimpers, his fingers slide down his back to softly stroke the blazing skin of the punished backside. Oh, it hurts, and Haruki whines, and Asami chuckles, and the boy gasps and squirms a little against him, without really meaning to.

“Mm. I like that. Make that sound again,” he purrs in his deliciously rich, deep baritone that vibrates straight through Haruki’s bones.

Haru's cheeks grow hotter, but he dares a quick peek at Asami’s face. The amusement is evident, along with something a bit softer...indulgence maybe. He’s not sure, but he hides his face in Asami’s shoulder again rather mortified that he been so unguarded with his desire, but those fingers caress his welted flesh once more and make him shudder. He groans softly before he can stop himself, desperately trying to contain the urge to writhe shamelessly within Asami’s heady embrace.

It's entirely mind-boggling that he can find any sort of sense of comfort at a time like this, but Asami _now_ is so warm, so reassuring, and he smells so very good. He’s thrilled and blissed out on the approval Asami has finally bestowed. His voice, his praise, makes the pain so much more bearable, worth every moment of the stinging agony he’d earned. But, oh, he still aches with another kind of need.

Of course Asami has noticed it. He’s seen everything else so far.

Haru can’t help but worry. He doesn’t want to lose the approval he suffered so much for by doing something wrong now, especially when Asami is being so generous and patient. He's too anxious to even dare a look at Akihito. What must he think of him now? And he tries to pull back a little from Asami’s warm body. “I…I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Don’t apologize for _that_ ,” says Asami with a surprisingly gentle smile. “You’re so responsive. It’s very…appealing.” He leans close so that he’s whispering in the boy’s ear. His warm breath sends shivers down Haruki’s spine, but in addition to the erotic sensation of his breath, his lips just barely brushing the delicate shell of the young man’s ear, and the soft bass rumble of his voice, the kid doesn’t have to look him in the eye right now and he’s doing that on purpose too, to give the poor guy a little bit of a chance to collect himself. “There was a time not long ago,” he continues, “when I’d have had you facedown with your ass in the air while you were still sobbing from your spanking, and my cock up your tight little ass before you could draw breath to scream. And oh, you would have. Screamed and screamed, begged that it hurt you poor cute little pucker so much. And it would have. Ahh. So much. But I’d have made you love it too. I can’t…no. I won’t give you that. I’m sorry. I’ll admit there is even a part of me that regrets it, as you’re sweet and hot and too adorable for your own good and I think your punished little ass would feel like heaven wrapped around my cock. But you have been good, and brave, and you’ve pleased me more than you know.”

Haru looks up with a gasp, his eyes huge and liquid as he meets Asami's steady gaze that silently speaks to the sincerity of his words. Beyond the erotic heat the man's filthy, gorgeous words have kindled inside Haru, intensifying the ache in his groin so much that Haru has to hold himself very very still not to do something disastrous, like coming all over Asami's expensive clothes, beyond even _that_ , Haru is shattered by his last uttered words. By that spoken commendation, the simple approval of this man. Brave? _Him?_ He...he truly _pleased_ Asami.

His eyes begin to swim again, fat tears slipping down his cheeks, and his chest hitches one...twice. He buries his face against Asami's shoulder once more and desperately tries to collect himself. Why? Why is he falling apart so badly now? Why does it mean so much?

"Thank you, Asami-sama," he whispers with raw gratitude, and then the vulnerability of his position finally hits, the inappropriateness of his clinging to this man, to expecting his continued kindness and care. Oh, he couldn't bare to see him angry, not now, to have him look at him with displeasure again.

Haru begins to pull away, cheeks flaming as he tries to scramble off Asami's lap, put his clothes to rights, and brush away his humiliating tears all at the same time.

Akihito watches them avidly, unable to peel his eyes away, knowing he couldn’t even if he wanted to. The expression on Haruki’s face when Asami comforts him and expresses his approval sends a pang through his chest. It’s not how things work with him and Asami. The man’s approval hasn’t ever mattered to him...it hasn’t. Well. Not like _this_ anyway. Not like it hands the kid the world in a shiny box with a big bow on top when Asami says he’s pleased. Oh Gods, it’s really beautiful, but it makes Aki’s chest hurt to see the naked longing on the other boy’s face...then to see him realize where they are, who he’s with, and to try to gather his dignity and his clothing around him to just...leave. It hurts something inside him almost unbearably.

“Asami,” he cries, “you’re not just going to let him walk away like _that_ are you?”

Haruki freezes with an alarmed expression on his face and he looks around wildly, as if trying to figure out what he’s done wrong now, but Asami knows exactly what Aki means and looks at him with one eyebrow raised.

“You’d really say this to me, Akihito?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m saying it. We can’t, Asami, he’s...he needs...he _needs_...”

“I know what he needs, pet, but I wouldn’t grant it at the cost of my little pets claws coming out later once you’ve had time to think better of what you’re saying just now.”

“You’ll find a way to make it...okay for us too. Just...Asami. Please.” He looks anxiously at the other boy, who is hovering nervously nearby, glancing back and forth between their faces, confused and tearstained and looking both deliriously happy and horribly uncomfortable. Aki imagines that’s for a couple of reasons, one of which is obviously the trouble he’s having getting his pants to actually close in front enough to cover himself.

Asami stares searchingly at Akihito for several long moments, then seems to come to some conclusion. Turning the same penetrating stare back on his erstwhile victim, he holds out a hand.

“Come here, Ito Haruki.”

Haru looks from Asami, then to Akihito, and then back again, flustered and anxious, but he takes hesitant steps toward Asami and reaches out to place his trembling hand in Asami's much larger one. The finer points of their exchange are lost on him, but maybe his punishment wasn't enough to satisfy Akihito. Or maybe...

Haru casts down his eyes, suddenly unable to meet Asami's gaze. Even though he said it was okay, at least that's what Haru had _thought_ he meant, maybe he's crossed an even worse line because of his lack of self-control, the way his body has so easily betrayed his desire. He bites into his bottom lip unthinkingly, worrying at the full flesh.

He feels his chin tipped up by a single finger. Those intense golden eyes are fixed on him, but the expression within them doesn't _look_ like displeasure. "Why do you look so worried? I've said you're forgiven. Do you doubt my word?"

Haru shakes his head hastily. " _No_! No, Asami-sama, that's not it. I was just worried that..."

"That..." Asami prompts.

"That you...and...and your...Akihito..." his eyes flick to the young man who has drawn even closer, "might be bothered because...because...I...I'm..." Haru flushes deep red and squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm sorry," he whispers miserably.

“Well shit,” says Akihito ruefully, shoving his hands in his pockets and easing back away from them with an encouraging smile, “I don’t think the pope could spend much time in the same room as him and not pop a boner!”

Asami snorts and manages to get his face back under control by the time Haruki turns back to look at him after staring at Akihito in openmouthed astonishment for several seconds. His face can’t seem to decide between hilarity and horror. Asami pats the hand he’s holding reassuringly.

“He makes me feel that way all the time.”

Gently, he pulls the boy back into his arms, turning him as he does so, so that when the confused young man winds up back in his lap again, his back is to Asami and Akihito is behind them both, out of Haruki’s sight. He starts talking as he slowly eases the boys pants back down over his hips.

“Now, you seem to be in a bad way, my sweet, brave, naughty little boy. Would you like me to help you? I can help you with your…predicament…without betraying anything I don’t want to betray. And Akihito, bless his soul, doesn’t want you to…mm…suffer as you’re obviously doing. He does always harp at me to take some responsibility. What about it, sweet boy? Will you take what pleasure I can offer you? 

_This can't be happening,_ Haru thinks wildly. It's too fantastical, too much like a dream, except for the fact that the light is so very bright streaming in through those floor to ceiling windows, and he's still a mess, wet and sticky in places, and soon to be worse if Asami keeps speaking in _that_ kind of voice right against his ear. He can even feel the press of Asami's own arousal against his sore bottom, and that's enough to make him glad he's seated firmly in the man's lap as a wave of dizziness sweeps over him. No, it's too _real_ to be a dream.

How can they be offering this? He knows he should say no. Probably somewhere inside of him there's a core of strength or dignity that would allow him to thank them and walk away. Haru doesn't even pretend to search for it. He simply can't, not now, with Asami's scent surrounding him, the heat of his body sinking into Haru's skin.

"Oh...I... _yes_."

When he gets his answer, Asami slides his fingers into Haruki’s hair again, tugging his head back, and kisses him. He brushes the boy’s lips teasingly with his own. Nibbles softly at his mouth then nips his bottom lip sharply enough to sting and make him whimper a little, then gently sucks and licks away the sting. He kisses him like this young man is his favorite thing in the world to eat, and that he’s going to be devoured. He pulls back after Haruki is breathless and writhing against his body, and the roll of his hips against the boy’s eager grinding presses the thick ridge of his erection between raw, bruised cheeks. 

“Now,” he purrs, “right here, right now, in this moment…you belong to me. You’ve taken your punishment like a good boy….a VERY good boy…and I want you to come for me.”

He takes Haruki’s hand and slowly moves it to his erection, now jutting out hungrily in front of him, aching to be touched. He opens the boy’s hand, splays his fingers out flat, then guides him to close them around his cock, his own hand closing around Haruki’s, enveloping it. He hums softly with pleasure when the boy shudders and groans softly. 

“Show me,” he breathes. “Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone and no one can see. I want to watch. I want you to come for me.”

It’s obvious to Akihito, watching them, breathless and so aroused himself he can hardly stand it, that this is nearly too much for Haruki. He looks pale and frightened, and tries to glance nervously over his shoulder. Aki steps farther back, almost into the dark curtains that can be drawn over the window behind the sofa, so that he doesn’t think he can be seen. But then Asami whispers with that sinful voice in the boy’s ear that he’s brave and good and that he finds him beautiful. He breathes dark, brutal descriptions at the trembling young man, of how he’d love to bend him over right now and take him. Ravage his body, ram himself into the boy while he screamed. As he talks, the hand wrapped around the boy’s fist slowly urges his to move. Between whispered encouragements and filth, he grazes the side of Haruki’s neck with lips and teeth. Tells him how he’d enjoy fucking him, prying open his tight little hole and filling it up with his great big cock while the boy yelped and squealed and cried for him to stop, just a little. And that he wouldn’t. 

“I want you to come for me, you dirty little boy. Can you do that for me?”

Oh, he can. He most definitely can. Could he stop it if he wanted is a better question. But why would he want to with Asami’s wicked words sending shivers down his spine and shots of pure lust coiling in his belly and shooting straight down to his cock?

It throbs in his grip with those strong fingers wrapped around his, encouraging his tentative strokes that slowly become more daring. His head falls back against Asami’s shoulder as he works his hand a little faster. He slides his thumb up to rub at the sensitive little spot at the base of the head, and his hips jerk in response.

He hears Asami’s soft chuckle and gasps and squirms when Asami bites down on the tender curve of his throat, and he moans outright this time, squeezing and stroking the hard flesh of his cock, trying to do it just how he does when he’s all alone, just like Asami wants.

But this is a thousand times better than that. There’s no comparison. Asami’s scent surrounds him. His sore ass rubs against the expensive fabric of Asami’s suit and the rock hard proof of Asami’s own arousal. A fierce pride sweeps through him that he could cause such a reaction in a man who seems so untouchable.

The best, oh the best thing, is that Asami said he belongs to him, even for just this moment, and those words are so sweet and heady in his ears, and combined with the dirty, filthy things Asami describes, his arousal reaches a fever pitch. He imagines himself bent over, open and exposed to take Asami’s hard, pounding cock again and again. Asami doesn’t relent no matter how much he cries and whimpers. His punished, upthrust little bottom stings as Asami’s hips slam against him, and his tight little hole burns.

The material of Asami’s suit is soft and fine, but when he begins to twist and writhe as his hand strokes faster and harder, it still inflames the raw skin of his poor, abused cheeks. It’s brilliant. Perfect. The fantasy merges with reality. His body curves like a bow, taut and singing, and he cries out his release. His cock spasms in his tight grip, Asami’s hand still wrapped around his own.

“Nghh…A—Asami-sama…”

Asami growls softly with pleasure. He loves this. Loves watching this sweet young thing squirming in his lap, loves the heat of his punished ass that he can feel through the fabric of his pants, loves the gasps and soft moans. It is heady, to turn a stubborn, defensive young man into a helpless, wanton, needy little boy. He loves everything about it, the heat, the tears, the lust, the POWER. This one is a treasure. So responsive. Stiff with pride at first, oh yes, but now…he lets it go without a thought, obeying immediately and beautifully. How gorgeous he is to Asami now, writhing as arousal sets its claws in his lithe body. He ignores the insistent throb in his own cock as the sweet little treat in his lap nears completion, sets his teeth to the tendon in the boy’s neck and bites down as he cries out helplessly, hard cock jerking in their clasped hands. Most of the time lately, Asami really loves his life.

“Such a good boy.”

He turns the boy’s head, tips his chin up with his index finger, kissing him gently as he slumps, panting, on Asami’s lap. His his lips curve in a slow smile against Haruki’s.

“So would now be an awkward time to invite you to visit us sometime at our home, Ito-san?” he asks, his tone softly jesting, as he looks over his shoulder and holds a hand out to Akihito, who slithers like an eel over the back of the couch to curl up like an overgrown puppy beside the both of them. Asami thoughtfully tosses a blanket off the back of the sofa over Haruki’s waist as he does this, both to preserve his modesty and to stave off the shivers he knows may well accompany the gradual slide back to earth he’s going to be experiencing shortly.

It takes a moment for the question to sink in, puddled in Asami’s lap as he is. For the moment, the endorphins singing through his veins are wreaking merry havoc on his higher-brain functions. But then his eyes fly wide when the full import hits. Visit their _home_?

His heart beats a little faster, but he rallies himself to answer politely, giving Asami a rather shy smile considering he's still sprawled half-naked on his lap and a messy wreck besides.

"Really?" he asks hesitantly, not quite sure he's heard right. He turns to look at Akihito who beams and nods encouragingly. Haru looks at each of them with wide, stunned eyes and tries not to sound too eager. "I...I'd really like that." One cheek dimples when the corner of his mouth turns up as the bizarre humor of the situation finally catches up to him. "And...under the circumstances, if you want...you can call me Haruki or...or Haru. I'd like that too."

“Yeah,” cries Akihito enthusiastically. “If you’re not busy this weekend, you could come hang with me! Um. With us. I just got the new Grand Theft Auto...and I mean the _new_ one that nobody’s even heard anything but rumors about...it’s got multiplayer...or I’ve got a buncha other games, and we have three systems so sometimes I can even get Asami to play, and we have like, every movie known to man and probably some nobody’s heard of, and Asami’ll let us order in sushi...any kind you want! Oh, say you can, Haru! I don’t...I don’t hang out with a lot of other people my age who...who know. What we do.” He blushes and turns suddenly shy. “It’d be cool to have a friend who understands.”

After a slightly shell-shocked moment, Haru can’t help but start laughing softly. Akihito is almost as overwhelming as Asami in his own way, something like a human whirlwind. It just sends him over the edge. That and the fact that he’s having this encounter without pants. He covers his mouth with one hand and snorts laughter into his palm. He’s probably still a little loopy from the spanking, and Akihito’s infectious good cheer and kind-hearted gestures are so disarmingly charming.

He hopes Akihito doesn’t take offense at the sudden outburst, but it’s really just such a _release_

"Yeah," his face splits into a smile so wide it makes his cheeks hurt. "That sounds really really great. I'd love to do that." He meets Akihito's gaze with a look of pure understanding and adds softly, "I don't have anyone like that either."


End file.
